


7% Pain Solution

by TheDoctorCalledMeACumberbitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ARGH, Addiction, Christmas, Cigarettes, Cocaine, Complete, Cuties, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Fear, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, GUYS, Gpd, HE, Injecting, John - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Many - Freeform, Oh, Smoking, Virgin Sherlock, YYaya, arghhh, care, for, heheh, how, loving, much - Freeform, okay, watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorCalledMeACumberbitch/pseuds/TheDoctorCalledMeACumberbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock remembers when he started smoking.<br/>Sherlock remembers when he started injecting.<br/>But Sherlock doesn't remember when he started loving.<br/>That's new and terrifying.<br/>And just a little bit brilliant.</p>
<p>*Complete*</p>
            </blockquote>





	7% Pain Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Little one-shot (might write epilogue) and my first ever fic so please enjoy and comment your opinion or any grammatical errors :) Not beta-ed so thank you for any hep :) Enjoy! *pours you some tea as a peace offering*

Sherlock can remember when the smoking started. He was at a family party. Mycroft was there, Mummy, even Uncle Vernon, all of them smoking outside of the vast house. They called him and his cousin over to where they were, Sherlock remembers it was by the rose bush that Mycroft use to throw him into.

The young genius and his cousin were both 14 and jumped at any chance to appear grown up, so when they were offered a cigarette they both accepted with little hesitation. His cousin, Pete, chocked immediately after the inhale and for a good ten minutes after that. This sent the family into a fit of giggles at the expense of the poor lad.

Next it was Sherlock's turn and he could feel the eyes of his 'family' (he used the term lightly after the way they treat him) boring into his kin, burning it away like acid. Sherlock put the cigarette to his lips and his Father lit it. Cautiously he inhaled, the sticky substance flooding down his throat. His family looked at him expectantly, awaiting the same response as Pete. Instead he calmly exhaled, fixed them all with an ice gaze from his steel grey eyes, and then took another drag. His family awkwardly shuffled so they were no longer staring at him and finished their own cigarettes. By the end of the night Sherlock had finished a pack to himself.

It didn't matter who he was talking to he never wanted to explain why he didn't stop there. Why that one pack wasn't enough and why by the next year he was on three packs a day. Privately, of course, he knew. It slowed his brain, only slightly and yet it was noticeable. It calmed him down, made his thinking clearer. He could take everything into account, it wasn't just sharp deductions and harsh observations.

Of course, it hadn't raised too many concerns at the time that he started.

Mycroft was in university and Mummy & Father were busy messing about with government and other boring subject matters like that. In fact, by the time they'd even noticed that he had started he was of legal age to buy his own. His mother gave him dirty looks anytime he went out for a smoke in the middle of a fancy dinner, or when she found 243 types of tobacco ash under his bed. In act he was over the moon when he got to move out and fend for himself in London. No more judging, he could just be himself. It felt good. For a while.

 

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Sherlock can remember when the cocaine started. He was sat under a bridge, age 23 and smoking, when a man dressed in a long blue coat walked up to him. He smiled a dazzlingly white smile and brushed a hand through his gravity-defying brunette hair. "Sherlock, right? Are you okay?" He asks with a strong American lilt. Sherlock nodded, throwing his cigarette butt down to the filthy ground. 

"Can I help you?" He asked, fixing the man with a steely gaze. The man smiled again flashing his pearly teeth. 

"No," He said with a laugh. "but I believe I can help you." He pulled back half of his jacket, revealing rather questionable braces _and_ a belt. Then from his pocket he pulled a brown envelope. He locked eyes with Sherlock and thrust the package towards him. Sherlock took it, with a questionable raise of the brow, and ripped it open. Inside was a syringe, a tourniquet and a small pocket of white power. Sherlock stared at him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

"What is this?" He asked studying each piece of the package. The American smiled at him and gently shook his head.

"You know what it is Sherlock. And I'm going to need you to take it. Another humans life depends on it."

Sherlock looked at him and practically threw the envelope back to him. "Whose?"

The man laughed but his eyes had turned darker. "Should it matter? Sherlock. Take the package."

The raven haired genius dropped it to the ground.

"No." He growled. "How do you know my name? In fact..no..Who are you?! I could read the stories of every single person on the street above us. Their families, their ages, their jobs. But you? I see nothing. Your eyes are so old, older than you. You wear a coat older than you look yet the cuffs suggest that it is not second hand. So no, I will not trust you or take your 'package'. Who are you?!" The man's smile fell and he stared directly into the eyes of the enraged genius.

"Sherlock-" He started but Sherlock cut him off.

" _ **Tell.Me.Who.You.Are.**_ " He snarled, placing his foot above the package in a threat to crush it.

"My name is Captain Jack Harkness. I'm from 51st century  Boeshane Peninsula. And I can't ever die." The man, now identified as Jack, began. Sherlock stood there with a terrified look of disbelief plastered over his face. "And you can crush that all you like. The batch is not important. What is important is that you start taking cocaine and you start it today. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, truly I am. But you have to know that if you don't not only will another man die but most importantly you'll never meet. Please you have to trust me."

Sherlock stared at him in awe but grabbed the package up off the floor. He straightened his treasured Belstaff and looked back at Jack. "I am not sure whats going on here. And trust me when I say that that's relatively new for me." Sherlock said causing Jack to smirk. "However I am willing to give this a shot. If you can prove something."

Jack raised and eyebrow and leant again the wall under the bridge. "Oh? And what would that be?"

Sherlock gave the impossible man a devilish grin and a slight chuckle. "Prove to me that you are from the future. "

Jack laughed and raised his eyebrows. "Oh you could of given me a hard one! See you in a bit, Sherlock Holmes." He winked in a flirty way before pulling up his sleeve. He hit what Sherlock had thought was only a watch and then disappeared. Sherlock stepped forwards instinctively and waved his arms in the space where the insane Captain once stood.

Sherlock looked down at the brown package in his hand. Putting it in his pocket he briskly walked back towards his flat. His flat that was much too big for the few furnishings he had. Walking into the kitchen he calmly made himself a cup of tea (only to discover that he had no milk left) and then sat down in his armchair to watch some crap telly. He shouted at it for a while before growing bored and went to his kitchen to continue his latest experiment on a human foot.

It wasn't until that night, when he went to his downstairs bedroom, that he took out that package. He opened it ad spread the contents out onto his barely used bed before looking around his room. He was surrounded by grey walls and wooden belongings. Impeccable suits and well tailored photographs. His brain went into to over drive as he prepared his latest experiment. Himself. And cocaine, of course. Tying the tourniquet around his left arm he raised the syringe. By now his brain was flooded with deductions and observations and it _hurt_ and he just wanted it to stop.

And then it did.

As the liquid pooled into his veins he felt his nerves sing at him as his brain went blissfully quiet. His movements turned sluggish as he lay down onto his bed. His ceiling swirled above him and he reached out to touch it. Sitting back up, his head dizzying for a moment, he looked around his room. Instead of the harsh painful words that usually forced their ways intrusively into his head, all he felt was a numb feeling and God it felt amazing.

He spent the rest of that high just walking round his flat and silently thanking Captain Jack Harkness. But once he started coming down and his nerves were on fire with the need of more narcotic all he could think about was were he could get some more. It didn't take him long to track down a dealer and from then on he was hooked on the feeling of feeling nothing.

He used constantly for several months before his brother caught on. He remembers the meeting in his office:

**_"Sherlock, I know."_ **

_"Mycroft, you know nothing."_

_" **Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me. I know about the addiction and I refuse to let you waste your above average intellect on narcotics!"**_

_"I am not an addict."_

**_"Well I hardly think you can argue that, Sherlock!"_ **

_"Well I hardly think it's any of your business."_

**_"You were found in a crack house, Sherlock!"_ **

_"Ah yes. Who did find me? All your men had failed for months, as far as I'm aware."_

**_"Well yes I'm surprised you are aware."_ **

_"Mycroft-"_

**_"I don't know, Sherlock. An American chap brought you to The Diogenes. Said it was time for me to find out about your problem or some rubbish."_ **

_"Ah my old friend. Have you ever tried cocaine, Mycroft?"_

**_"No, Sherlock."_ **

_"Hmm thought not. Brilliant for quieting the mind. Not that you need help in that department-"_

**_"I don't have time for your petty insults, Sherlock. Stop using or I'l send you to rehab myself."_ **

 

Of course he hadn't stopped. It wasn't until he was pulled out of a gutter by a brand new DI that he even considered it. From the second the man walked up to him he deduced his pregnant cheating wife and the fact that he'd only just gotten promotion to detective inspector. The DI found his observation skills outstanding (and a little annoying) and introduced himself as Greg Lestrade. Lestrade pulled up the raven haired genius and let him lean on him for support. Sherlock barely remembers what happened as he was high as a kite at the time. However he does remember the proposition the DI stated when they were in his office. 

"Sherlock," He remembers him saying, despite the fact he can't remember actually telling him his name. "You are a junkie. But your brain is brilliant. We could use you on our team, you know." Sherlock had scoffed at the idea of working for the police and and told Lestrade that at the time in the form of a rude hand gesture. Lestrade laughed and lent forward on this desk. "You now what?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "If you got yourself cleaned up  and came back to me in, I don't know, a month, you could come and help on some cases, if you'd like?" The boy sat up a little straighter at this. Puzzles were the only things that kept his mind busy. Them and cocaine. 

"Keep talking." He rasped, feeling queasy from coming down. Greg Lestrade smiled. That was the first thing Sherlock had said since he deduced the crap out of him and his family. He cleared his throat.

"Well, as it happens I might be able to get you into rehab for a month."

Sherlocked raised an eyebrow. "We've only just met." He coughed.

The DI nodded. "Yes , yes, I know. But lucky for you we had a handsome young American lad in here a minute ago. Said he wanted to pay for your rehab. Lovely guy. Shame he didn't tell us his name. Gave us enough money though so it's your lucky day."

Sherlock's lips twitched in what could be seen as half a smile. "When do I leave?" He croaked meeting the Lestrade's eyes. Lestrade flashed him a smile and patted his arm.

"You leave tomorrow, Mr Holmes."

 

 

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Sherlock remembers when he started feeling.

When he started taking a new drug in the form of a small veteran with a warm heart.

He remembers the day when he met Dr John Watson, though. He remembers every detail. The way he held himself with military strength and leveled his cool gaze with that of warmth. John Watson arrived in the form of cosy jumpers, tea and daytime television. He was a muddle of psychosomatic limps, dead cab driver and unexpected compliments. 

Sherlock can perfectly recall every time he whispered the word "amazing" or "extraordinary". He remembers each awed look in his Doctor's eyes. He even remembers every time that the physician got something before him. He has an entire wing in his mind palace just for him and a great big lock on the door. The truth is, the tiny bit of a man, absolutely terrified Sherlock. The genius who spent half of his life surrounded by dealers was _scared_ of an ex-medic. 

 

 

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Sherlock remembers when he started smoking.

Sherlock remembers when he started injecting.

Sherlock even remembers when he started feeling.

But he's never been able to pinpoint when he started _loving_.

He imagines it just happened somewhere between a cabbie getting shot and visiting a mad-man at a pool.

He remembers the way his hear soared when he realised who shot a man trying to kill him and how it plummeted like a rock through the ocean when the same man stepped out of a cubicle appearing to be his enemy. And he knows how it feels when he un-locks an entire wing in his mind palace and all at once he is faced with an onslaught of pictures and memories and how his heart feels like it's beating out a name.

**_John Watson._ **

 

 Sherlock knows how it feels when his grey eyes meet with that of speckled hazel and his heart misses beats and makes him doubt being a sociopath. He knows how he feels when he is smiled at like he is human and is not seen by another as a freak. Sherlock knows he's in love with John. He just can't remember how it happened.

But he doesn't think he could ever forgot the first time he kissed him.

It was Christmas day, and John was walking round without his usual jumper instead he was in a well-tailored suit that Sherlock had picked out for him. It fit perfectly, hugged the right places, hung off the right places, and...well....Sherlock just couldn't stop staring. His mouth went dry as he looked upon the well-built ex-army figure before him.

"-for us?"

Sherlock's head snapped up. Oh dear. John had been talking all that time and probably saw him staring.

"Sorry, what was that?" He asked, making an attempt at nonchalance. He walked round to his chair and flopped down into it with no attempt at grace. John sighed.

"Must you always flounce around the place? I said 'Is your brother sending a car'?" John inquired, buttoning up his suit jacket and walking over to the fridge. He opened the fridge and wrinkled his nose at the bag of fingers and jars of eyes in bizarre looking liquid.

Sherlock walked over to him and closed the fridge door for him. John turned round to face him. Sherlock's breath hitched as John's beautiful hazel eyes stared up into his as the snow fell slowly outside. His mouth went dry as he felt John breathe against his neck. John was backed up right against the fridge now with Sherlock's hand still to his right after closing the door. He couldn't escape. Not that he wanted to.

"Sherlock," He started, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are there eyes in the fridge?"

Sherlock huffed a laugh but didn't move. "An experiment." He replied, his baritone rough with arousal. God dammit. His body may just be transport but it ure reacted how it wanted.

"What for?"

"I have conclusively proved that the accused man from the elephant case can't have been blind." Sherlock replied, his eyes still lost in John's.

"That's....." John started. Sherlock wait for the 'unnecessary' or the 'mental' like he had received all his life. But instead, John released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and said with his voice barely  whisper,

"..amazing."

Before John could say anything else he felt Sherlock's lips on his. Firm and strong, much like Sherlock's body pressed against him. It was a little awkward at first and frankly John just stood there. But then he realised it was Sherlock kissing him. _Sherlock_. And he didn't know if he'd ever get to do it again. So 'three-continents' Watson sprang into action, his hand moving to Sherlock's hair and pulling it a little, causing Sherlock to gasp. The opening of his mouth gave John an opportunity and he ran his tongue over Sherlock's lower lip before inserting it into his mouth. Intrusive, Sherlock thought, but definitely not unwanted. John groaned, sending blood pooling to Sherlock's abdomen. He groaned against John's mouth and felt John wrap his hands around his waist. By now they were all tongues and teeth and need. But then John's brain sent him unwillingly to his many exclaims of 'I'm not gay!' and he pulled back.

He stared up to Sherlock's face, his pupils dilated and his lips pink and plump from their previous activities. His curly hair was tousled in a way that John wished he found less arousing.

"Sherl-" He started, his voice was rough and had an edge to it that turned Sherlock weak at the knees. However the ex-medic couldn't even finish his sentence before once again lips met and with all the urgency of before except this time they weren't holding back. And then there was a knock at the door and both of them separated and straightened up. Sherlock look down at John's reddened face and could only imagine that his was the same. All of a sudden a low chuckle bubbled up, uninvited, from his throat. He looked down at the face of his latest addiction.

"Guess Mycroft sent a car."

 

John will never forget the look of love on the genius' face.

 

And he never wants to.

 

*THE END*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first fic! Stick with me because I'm thinking of writing an epilogue of how John knew Captain Jack Harkness and why he went back to give Sherlock drugs! :) Please leave comments on whether or not this is something you want & on your opinion of the main fic! Thank you again! *takes, now empty, teacup off you*


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